On his right stood a fit figure clad in black leather armor, with a fighting hat on his head and a gray cloth sweatband covering his face. This person was holding a beautifully decorated, narrow Miao saber; his aura was elusive like an undercurrent in a great river, giving others an unclear yet instinctive wariness.
Yang Ge held a bamboo basket in one hand and the Cold Moon Treasure Blade in the other, glancing at both individuals, "You two are quite noisy. Can’t you find somewhere else to fight?"
As Yang Ge sized up the two, their gazes also fell upon him.
The man in the purple robe was the first to speak, cupping his fist from a distance, "Might you be ’Manifest True Sovereign’ Yang Erlang in person?"
The man in black armor followed, his tone less pleasant, "So you’re Yang Erlang? Not exactly impressive, are you?"
Yang Ge looked towards the man in the purple robe, "And who are you?"
The man in the purple robe courteously clasped his hands, "This old man is Zhou Yin, gatekeeper of Lou Wai Lou, at your service, Second Master."
Yang Ge suddenly understood, "Ah, so you’re the Grandmaster of Lou Wai Lou. I’ve been waiting for you... And who is this idiot?"
He pointed his sword at the man in black armor.
The man in the purple robe also looked towards the man in black armor, his gaze ominous, "This old man would also like to know... who is this scoundrel!"
The man in black armor scoffed, slightly lifting his fighting hat in disdain, "Isn’t your Lou Wai Lou supposed to know everything about the Jianghu? Not even knowing who I am, do you still have the face to comment on the heroes of the world?"
Yang Ge nodded, "Right, isn’t your Lou Wai Lou the all-knowing in Jianghu? How come you don’t recognize this idiot? Surely we can’t have a Grandmaster falling from the sky?"
The man in black armor’s gaze turned to Yang Ge, his eyes becoming even more contemptuous and fierce, "The youngster has a sharp tongue, huh? I just wonder if your skills are as sharp as your mouth."
Yang Ge ignored his provocation, his gaze still fixed on the Grandmaster.
The Grandmaster stared at the man in black armor, scrutinizing him up and down for a moment before slowly saying, "Although this old man does not know who this person is, I recognize the long saber in his hand. It belonged to Nie Jin, the ’Northern Berserker’ who shook the Jianghu sixty years ago. The saber technique he just used was the ’Twelve Dreamlike Strikes,’ a secret technique from the Night Snow Villa on Dongting Lake, which was annihilated twenty-six years ago... This old man suspects, the three million taels of silver that were stolen belonged to them!"
No sooner had he spoken than the man in black armor burst into laughter, "After all, it’s the Zhou family; even a skinny camel is bigger than a horse!"
Yang Ge looked bemused at the man in black armor, finding his behavior and ability... oddly mismatched!
The supreme Grandmasters he had encountered were numerous, but not excessive.
But every one of them had poise and remained undisturbed by ripples, even the old eunuch Tong Ying, who emerged from deep within the palace, had an imposing air of still water running deep and majesty like Mount Tai...
This was actually not hard to understand since all supreme Grandmasters achieved tremendous success on the martial arts path, each capable of founding their own schools and held in high secular regard, usually second to none, above tens of thousands. Naturally, they cultivated an extraordinary demeanor.
However, the man in black armor before Yang Ge felt... just like a brash nobody, eager to take the blame as if he were afraid others would not notice they had committed "such a big deed."
Among the martial arts experts Yang Ge knew, even the most unrestrained Yang Tiansheng was far superior to him!
This kind of trash, a Grandmaster?
When did Grandmasters become so worthless?
He stared at the man in black armor, examining him thoroughly, and piecing together the Grandmaster’s words, he had a sudden realization, "Oh, I see what kind of person you are – a thousand-li horse in the courtyard, a pine that reaches the sky from within a pot!"
The man in black armor, stung by Yang Ge’s contemptuous gaze, suddenly angered, "Youngster, what are you looking at?"
Yang Ge chuckled softly, shaking his head, "Nothing much, just wondering who gave a lowlife like you the courage to provoke me."
Before his words had settled, he suddenly erupted, a leap into the air and a strike of "Proud Snow Overbearing Frost," unleashing a forty-meter wave of saber energy from above down like Sun Wukong wielding his Jingu Bang, chopping at the man in black armor.
Updat𝓮d fr𝙤m ƒгeeweɓn૦vel.com.
The man in black armor, furious, neither dodged nor evaded; he bent his body and abruptly drew his saber to meet the strike, his own blade tracing a brilliant arc of snowy energy in response to the crushing saber energy descending upon him.
"Boom."
The crisp and hidden killing intent of the piercing cold saber energy burst through the snowy line, smashing down on the standing ground of the man in black armor. In an instant, the earth cracked open, and the residual force raised waves of earth like shocking waves, swirling towards the man in black armor, who let out a shout, leapt back, and frantically waved his Miao saber, shattering a dazzling saber glow to break the oncoming force.
Yang Ge in midair felt that the man’s previous strike was exceedingly familiar. He recalled it more carefully and then softly exclaimed with a realization, "Dongying’s Sword Drawing Skill?"
As his words still lingered in the air, his shadow, accompanied by a trail of afterimages, materialized above the man in black armor, unfolding the Cold Moon Treasure Blade with a straightforward and unpretentious strike of Mount Hua’s powerful cleave, aimed directly at the man in black armor.
The man in black armor had no time to dodge and moved his saber in front of him to block.
The clash of the two blades didn’t produce the ear-piercing clang typically associated with sharp blades colliding, but instead a deep, resonant sound like the ringing of a large bell.
The ground beneath the man in black armor, with a radius of more than two zhang, suddenly sank three feet. His fighting hat shattered atop his head, he spouted a mouthful of fresh blood, and his gaze towards Yang Ge quickly shifted from fury and disdain to horror and disbelief.
It seemed he was wondering how a fellow supreme Grandmaster like Yang Erlang could be so powerful?
Unbeknownst to him, the plain and simple cleave from Yang Ge just then was infused with the weight of the eternal Mount Tai through the earth element, melded with Yang Ge’s martial insights on the coexistence of yin and yang, the harmony of hardness and softness, and his life reflections on how heroes shape, and are shaped by, their times—condensing into that slicing strike!